Private Knight-Time Activities

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

As soon as Cora's telekinetic grip took hold of the camera, Drystan rolled out from the corner and sprinted toward the door. He came to a quick stop, immediately assessing the locking mechanism. Speed was of the essence—not because he doubted Cora's ability to hold the camera in place, but because every passing second of a frozen feed increased the risk of drawing attention.

The lock was simple. Ancient. A traditional metal keyhole, the kind large enough to peer through. From his pocket, Drystan retrieved a pick and tension wrench. The absence of his left arm made the process more challenging, but with the pick held between his teeth and the wrench in his remaining hand, he worked quickly. Within moments, a soft click rewarded his effort, and the door handle gave way.

He eased the door open and signaled for Cora to follow. Once they were both inside, he closed the door behind them, locking it exactly as it had been.

The study was unassuming—spacious, with shelves lining the walls, a large desk at the center, and ample lighting fixtures placed for practical reading and writing.

Drystan took a brief moment to scan the room. No signs of surveillance.

"Let's start searching," he said quietly. "Ledgers, journals, correspondences—anything useful. There's a bell that signals the next round; should ring before the hour's up, depending on how long the matches run. Keep an ear out while we dig."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora kept her telekinetic hold steady until she slipped past the open door. As soon as it clicked shut, lowered her hand. Hopefully, the momentary pause in the camera's feed wouldn't even be noticed - and if it was, it could be attributed to a minor mechanical error.

After all, Ukatis didn't have the highest grade tech.

Grund's study was unassuming. Neat and orderly, as to be expected of a nobleman. Cora's eyes landed on a globe flanking one curtained window. From where she was standing, she could see the green and yellow swaths depicting Ukatian landmasses, almost blending into the blues of the ocean.

A memory tugged at her attention. She and her younger brother, Dominick, would occasionally sneak into their father's study as children. The Ukatian globe, with its lacquered surface and spinning axis always fascinated them. Father always scolded them, insisting that it was not a toy.

The recollection lasted less than a moment. Her eyes fell to the desk, and a gloved hand tested the drawer nearest to her. It slid open with a groan, unlocked. Such sensitive information wouldn't have been left so accessible, but it was important to search what they could.

"…sixteen barrels of ale?"

Cora frowned as she held up the receipt, only placing it down after the initial wave of judgement had passed. Most of what they found wasn't immediately suspicious. A dull correspondence regarding the legal trade of one harvested crop for another here, a roster of house servants there.

It wasn't until Drystan had picked the lock of the last drawer did they find something interesting.

A plain, nondescript book. Handwritten pages. A diary of sorts.

Cora frowned as she leafed through the entries. "…It's written in High Ukatish. A language only taught to the aristocracy of this world." She glanced to Drystan before scrutinizing the symbols on the paper. She was rusty. It had been at least a few years since she'd spoken, let alone read the noble dialect.

"This entry was written eight months ago. It says…'I've purchased a healing amulet from a cloaked traveler claiming to be a mystic. I have reason to believe that he is a former Seer cast out for traitorous conduct, but he's assured me that his magick is the sort that brings aid to the sickly. I only hope that it will be enough."

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

Drystan made a note of that ale from the receipt. From what little he remembered of that night, the taste of Ukatian ale was something he hadn't forgotten. A surprising delight, considering his tendency to keep pleasures to a minimum. This wasn't for anything related to the mission—more of a post-mission procurement. Force knows he needed a drink—only this time, it wouldn't be during a job, and under far less dubious circumstances. There was plenty of room on his ship for it anyway.

"An aid to the sickly? Not much to go on. Could be superstition, a trinket sold to a sucker... though Grund doesn't strike me as the gullible type. Our identities were tailor-made to play on his weaknesses, and even then, I wasn't convinced—especially after what I found. Yours in particular."

It was an offhand comment, but it revealed just how detailed Drystan could be—and how ruthless. Nothing seemed off the table for the Shadow, not even the emotional ties of his targets. Just how far was he willing to go?

He continued sifting through the rest of the files. Folders, books, even photographs were unearthed—rifled through and inspected with a meticulous eye. Eventually, he found a letter, this one in Basic, addressed to Grund.

"This one… it details a shipment of antiques. The ledger with it—healing, regeneration, curatives... a sickness. Same theme. It doesn't add up. Why would Grund need this? He doesn't seem that old—still spry, from what I saw. Was he ill when you met him?"

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

To Drystan's remark, Cora arched her brow. Her lips pursed a little, too. Shadows were known for their efficiency, which bordered on cruel at times.

She kept any comments to herself for the time being. Drystan was not a youngling in need of lecture, and they were in the midst of work.

"No," she answered with a slow shake of her head. "He seems perfectly healthy to me. At least, physically."

Cora drifted off there, a thoughtful look overtaking her expression.

"He's mourning the loss of his wife and daughter. The paintings, the statues…I don't know how his wife passed, but perhaps it was a sickness that took her, hence the focus on finding an unconventional cure."

The distant chime of a bell could be heard as soon as she finished speaking. Cora's head snapped toward the direction from where it came - towards the tournament grounds.

"We have a few minutes before the next round starts. Best to keep up appearances."

Carefully, she closed the diary and returned it to the spot from which it had been retrieved.

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

"Damn the tournament."

Drystan's voice cut through the still air of the study. His hand lifted another letter into view, eyes scanning its contents with a sharpened gaze. With each document unearthed, it became clearer that there was indeed an exchange of Force artifacts and other forbidden paraphernalia under Grund's influence.

But these were just documents—and each carefully worded letter did its best to avoid explicitly stating what was truly being bought and sold. It would not be enough if he wished to bring the hammer of justice down upon them.

Only one room remained to check.

Time was short. Their appearances were expected—Cora among the nobles watching the spectacle, and Drystan among the duelists ready to compete. Yet he was so close. Was it impatience that nudged him toward his decision? Or confidence? It was uncertain, but a smirk began to pull across his lips.

"These documents are proof enough for me to take Grund down..." he murmured, a pause lingering in the air. His fist clenched, golden electricity briefly arcing around his forearm before fading as he relaxed his hand and turned to the door.

"However... justice demands we do our due diligence and find something more concrete. I will at least grant him—and his conspirators—that courtesy."

Without another word, he pushed the door open. Extending two fingers toward the security camera across the hall, Drystan crushed it with a pulse of the Force, the device imploding violently and leaving scorched black marks across the wall.

It would hide their identities for the moment, but the destruction would certainly bring security down upon them soon enough.

"Flank my left and cover my weak side. We're heading to his daughter's quarters."

His voice was steady, resolute.

"I have a feeling we'll find exactly what we're looking for in there."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora's eyes snapped to the golden arc of energy as it briefly crackled over Drystan's arm. She considered his decision silently - the quicker they ended this, the better. Her assent came as a sharp nod.

Still, they were skating on thin ice. She frowned as the security camera shattered. It wasn't the surgical work she'd come to expect from the shadow, but something a little rougher.

"Let's not draw this out too long," she murmured while falling into step at Drystan's left. "We're on borrowed time as it is."

A silent understanding passed between them as Drystan picked the lock to the daughter's room; if they didn't find enough evidence in here to bury Grund, then they had bigger problems.

The door slid open, revealing a veritable treasure trove of information. What was once a girl's bedroom had been turned into an eclectic display of artifacts; they lined the walls and occupied the shelves. Lightsaber hilts of different designs were organized in a fan around a large glass cylinder filled with liquid. Suspended in the tube was a young blonde woman, seemingly in stasis.

Shock hit Cora like a lightning bolt. She recovered moments later, stepping into the low, cyan lighting given off by the stasis chamber.

"Good Ashla," she murmured as she placed a hand against the glass. The girl's features were sickly and gaunt, but she could feel a heartbeat pulsing in the Force.

That, and there was a sophisticated vital monitor next to the tube. It blinked steadily, lines monitoring her heart rate spiking in a typical pattern while her oxygen remained stable.

"He implied that she was…gone…" Cora whispered. "Oh, you poor thing. I can't imagine what you've been through."

The pieces of the puzzle were in place, and the picture now came into focus.

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

As the sight before them was revealed, Drystan remained mostly silent, his eyes scanning the various artifacts and curios — the lightsabers and other Force paraphernalia that composed Grund's collection. And at the center of it all, perhaps the reason why these things had been gathered: his daughter, suspended in liquid stasis.

His hand traced along the shelves in thought, before coming to an abrupt halt as the shuffle of heavy, booted footsteps alerted him to the door. He quickly engaged the lock, then used a long, stick-like artifact to bar it further. Silent all the while, as men — no doubt Grund's retinue — gathered and surrounded their only exit.

The Shadow stood still, contemplating the situation, his eyes flicking between Cora, the girl in the stasis chamber, and the door. The guards behind it were already shouting for their surrender. Multiple strategies formed in his mind — efficient, quick, proven tactics that would have ensured victory.

But no.

Victory wasn't what mattered now. Not after what they'd discovered. In the end, what was truly important… was doing the right thing.

"Cora..." he began, his hand drifting over the collection of lightsabers. "I've been reminded of an important lesson my master once taught me."

He picked up one saber, balancing it in his hand. Then another — holding both in his singular palm.

"That being a Jedi is about more than saving lives. It's about bringing hope and peace to a galaxy in dire need of it." He turned to her, eyes bearing down upon her own and then to the girl in the tank, before offering a resolute nod.

"You are our Caretaker of First Knowledge. The Order's beacon for wisdom. The star that guides our next generation." He shook his head faintly. "Truth be told, I envy you — for having the strength to carry that role."

Drystan was a Shadow in every sense. A wisp of darkness flickering within the wellspring of light that was the Jedi Order. He never felt right being within the light, as if he was only a passerby stopping by temporarily for its warmth.

"Heal her. Find whatever it is that ails this girl and strike it from her body. I'll buy you the time you need to get it done."

He turned toward the door, his eyes locked on the source of the thudding — the guards now trying to force their way in.

He lifted the sabers, one igniting in blue, the other — held firmly between his teeth — in green. One blade for the hand he had. The other to cover the side he didn't.

"I will not let anyone get past me until you are finished. You can count on that."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora's attention only shifted from the stasis tube when Drystan reached for one of the wall-mounted sabers. She met his gaze, mirroring the Shadow's intensity. One brow tried to rise at his mention of envy, but it was quickly stifled by the urgency of their particular situation.

Suddenly, a larger part of this mission had fallen into her hands. A protest crossed her mind – not that she didn't want to help where she could – but the belief that Drystan had graded her abilities too highly. That too died before it could be voiced. It was something for her to analyze later, when she was alone and had the time to reflect on the reasoning behind her own reactions.

Now was the time to act.

With a sharp nod, Cora turned toward the glass chamber. Before she did, she cast a quick glance at the limp knot of fabric where Drystan's left arm had once been.

Her turned back was a silent expression trust.

Palms pressed flat against the container, Cora angled her chin upward, locking her gaze on to Zuzana's face. She looked quiet, peaceful even. As if she were only sleeping. Her golden hair spread about her like a halo, drifting gently in the stasis medium.

Cora's eyes fell closed. Her senses extended outward, suffusing into the girl's skin and sinking into the marrow of her bones. There were many in the Order who were more accomplished healers, but the Knight had refined her skill to the point where she could feel the smallest twinge of the Dark. Physical ailments did not often escape her notice either, and there were none she could detect here.

Though it had been years ago, it felt like it had only been a short while since she'd been in a similar situation. A helpless girl, facing a bodily ailment that both frightened and eluded her, guided through to the other side by the steady hand of a Jedi.

That memory had snuck into the periphery of her mind, and it took a few moments for Cora to realize what had stirred it. The Dark. It had showed itself, just a sliver, but it was enough for her to lock onto its origin. The curse didn't exist in any one organ, but it had been flowing through the poor girl's blood. Not strong enough to kill, but just enough to gradually sap her life away.

The Light's work began. Steady but unyielding, burning away the corruption until Zuzana's pale skin grew luminous. A bright flash like a solar flare would briefly fill the room, then immediately die down.

A large crack scored in the center of the glass chamber. Suspended within, the girl's eyes slowly blinked open.

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

While Cora tended to the girl, purging whatever corrupted forces had taken hold, Drystan stood resolute. Though his stance was firm, his eyes appeared unfocused—his mind clearly elsewhere.

With a final crash, the doors burst from their hinges, and the Shadow sprang into action. One of the doors hurtled toward him, and had he dodged, it would have struck both Cora and the girl. Instead, he leapt into the air, brought a knee up to blunt its momentum, then followed with a kick that sent it flying back—slamming into an armored guard and knocking him out cold.

Grund's men were standard fare by Ukatian military measure—plate and blade, spear and shield. Some, thanks to offworld trade, wielded blasters.

But they proved little more than obstacles to the Shadow.

His killing intent, though tempered, still simmered beneath the surface as he cut through their ranks—not with lethal strokes, but with calculated strikes meant to disarm and disable. A hilt slammed into a helmet, sending one man sprawling. The saber clenched in his teeth swerved with the tilt of his neck to deflect a blaster bolt. It was brutal, efficient. Methodical.

And through it all, Drystan's eyes were distant. Glazed.

Here he was again. Doing the one thing he had always done. The only thing he knew. His talents, once more, put to use in violence. He couldn't even lie to himself anymore—not truly. He was a fighter. A weapon. A body forged for war and little else.

And yet, he hated it.

He hated how true it was that, had he not brought Cora along, this mission might have ended in failure. His hands were not made for healing. They were made for breaking. And he proved it again as his fist collided with a guard's chestplate, caving in the metal and sending the man crashing into his comrades like a wrecking ball.

Was this all he was good for?

A weapon. A blade. A living instrument of destruction. He was too good at it. So good that anything else felt like a lie. Like holding back.

It gnawed at him—that conundrum. To long for something higher, something purer... but to be dragged back down by the reality of what he was best at. Circumstance had forged him into this. And there was no path forward that didn't involve the breaking of bones or the silencing of enemies.

It stung.

More than any blade ever had.

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Trusting in both the Force and Drystan, Cora blocked out the din of battle behind her. It was not easy, each crash and hiss trying to pull her senses to attention.

Cracks spiderwebbed from the initial fracture in the tube. In only a few moments, the entire structure burst, sending shards of glass and stasis fluid washing over the floor.

Cora broke the girl's fall, catching her first by her shoulders. Some of the monitoring devices attached to her skin snapped as she stumbled, and Cora was quick to disconnect the wires where she could.

Zuzana blinked slowly, foggy and confused.

"It's alright," Cora murmured as she pressed her palm to the girl's forehead. "Your body has been through much. It's normal to feel fatigued for some time."

Finally, she turned to witness Drystan as he successfully fought off the guards. He was efficient and capable as always, but something unsettling lingered in the air around him. Something faint. Perhaps she'd get the chance to approach him about it later, when their mission had wound down.

"Enough!" she called, her voice carrying the crystal clear weight of a command. Her focus fell to the guards as she slung one of Zuzana's arms over her shoulder, taking the majority of her weight. "The Lady is exhausted. She requires quiet."

The girl's eyes began to flutter with more clarity. She looked first to the armored guards - splayed out and injured as they were - then to the dark haired man wielding a blade in his mouth.

Alarm crossed her face. "Wh-where is my father?!"

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

Drystan's teeth clenched tight against the hilt of his saber, his neck veining as he strained and lashed out at the closing circle of guards. His clothes were tattered, the only well-kept piece remaining his breastplate. Red lines cut across the pale of his skin—battle scars from a long, grueling fight against countless foes. His stamina faltered, his chest heaving with each breath. His musculature tensed, his body compacted like a predator on the brink of striking. A wild look burned in his eyes, stabbing through anyone who dared meet his gaze.

This wasn't just Drystan in his natural state.

The totality of his path, his work, his existence—everything that would always lead to outcomes like this. A body honed for violence. A mind sharpened for war. Instincts forged in conflict. Every maneuver, every choice, all converged here, into a single relentless truth. He was a wolf with his back to the wall, baring his fangs.

This was Drystan.

And then—Omura stepped forward from the ranks. The head of security drew twin blades, no doubt forged to withstand a lightsaber's edge. Drystan's gaze locked onto him, a flicker of eagerness passing through his bloodied expression. But before either could strike, Cora's voice rang out across the field, a lone chord piercing the chaos.

Then came another voice—frail, but unmistakable. One that hadn't echoed through these halls in many winters.

Zuzana.

Murmurs rippled through the guards. Many of Grund's men had heard the rumors, but none had believed them.

And then a booming voice, choked with disbelief:

"Zuzana?"

It was Grund. Clad in the regalia of war, a fitting ensemble for the day. He shoved past his men, wide-eyed, torn between a storm of emotions. Disbelief. Hope. Longing. It had to be a dream. How else could he explain this miracle after so many failed efforts?

"Oh... is it truly you?" The proud nobleman—the charismatic commander—crumbled in an instant. What remained was simply a father, awestruck and overwhelmed at the sight of the daughter he had long thought lost.

As the guards shifted their attention to the newly awakened lady of the house, Drystan dropped to one knee. The saber clenched in his mouth shut off and rolled from his lips to the ground. The mission was nearing its end.

His part in it was done.

"Well, isn't this a heartwarming family reunion," he muttered under his breath. His bloodied, trembling hands reached into his pocket, producing a cigarette. He lit it with the plasma of his saber's blade. Only after taking a long, slow drag did his body finally begin to relax.

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Their tedious work was over.

Cora had changed out of her stately dress, opting for a tunic and trousers. A claw clip kept her hair pinned and out of her face. Beyond what was necessary, she and Drystan hadn't spoken much.

Two of her fingers were pressed to a wound that ran the length of his forearm. Steadily, his flesh would knit itself back together. Every so often, she would pause to wipe away lines of crimson that trickled from injured skin.

It would scar. Her skills in healing were sufficient, not perfect.

The air that hung over them was unnerving. Grund's obsession with healing artifacts wasn't the oddest thing she'd come across. If anything, it was tragic. What truly needled at her was bestial manner in which Drystan had fought. Without him, Zuzana's story might have not had a happier ending.

It was calculated savagery. Refined in a way that was brutally unrestrained, but not malicious. It was not how Jedi were supposed to fight, but there were many things that Jedi were not supposed to do.

She left behind a thin red line. Clean, but it would still ache for some time. Cora turned his arm over, her fingers brushing against a rough, raised lesion on the underside of his bicep. Haphazardly stitched together with thread, partially healed and angry.

Cora raised her head, frowning.

"You are not taking care of yourself."

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

As his wounds were patched up by his colleague, Drystan's eyes stayed locked forward, gaze straight and away from the side that Cora tended to. He was frustrated—more so with himself than with anything else. This would have been a failure of an operation if he had undertaken it alone. Perhaps a success in the books, another leak patched in the artifact trade, but not one to the standards of a Jedi. It gnawed at him that this was yet another situation that proved, yet again, to be beyond him.

Why? Everything was meticulously scouted and accounted for—everything except for the one thing his calculated planning had failed to consider: that a man under his investigation just needed help. He grit his teeth, not because of the pain as his wounds were cleaned. No, he had stopped caring about the consequences of pain a long time ago—for better or for worse. It was because he was yet again proven to be nothing more than what he was.

At her statement, he replied first with a stretch of silence. It was true—his body was a haphazard patchwork of wounds and scars, left tended to the barest minimum for the most of it. It was a layer of marred skin hiding beneath it an otherwise remarkable body. And every prod and press to heal garnered little more than annoyance to the Shadow, as if he thought proper dressing was more than what was necessary.

"There's long stretches of time in my line of work where proper medical care is hard to come by." He tried to play it off as if it were just a part of the job. But the damage to his body was evident.

"Days, weeks, months when I'm in the field. You do what you can and keep going. Healing isn't really my specialty, either."

A quick shift in subject followed. Distraction, misdirection—it was instinct by now. He was a Shadow. Getting out of unwanted situations was second nature.

"Thanks for helping me on that operation. Even if it went a little sideways at the end. Where do you want to get dropped off at? I'll be out of your hair faster than a Corellian minute."

His eyes shifted slightly to gauge her reaction. Would she take the bait? Let him retreat behind the excuse?

She didn't.

A sigh. The truth then.

"I'm a fighter, Cora. I was born a fighter." His brows furrowed as he dug deep, an exhale of his breath. His voice was resolute. "I fight. I get hurt. Rinse and repeat until my body can't take it anymore. That's what we do. It's in my nature. Being out there, putting my life on the line. Bleeding is a given. Healing? Not so much."

His eyes shifted back to staring ahead of him, boring past the medbay doors and beyond, as if peering into another dimension.

"That's why I said I envied you." A shake of his head. "And not just you. The others in the Order. You all have something important that keeps you going. A purpose. A dream. Something you can pursue every time you open your eyes in the morning."

His fist clenched, jaw following suit.

"Fighting, doing the things I do on the battlefield—you'd call it impressive. Remarkable, maybe. But compared to what you have, it means nothing. It is nothing."

And his tone lowered, this time barely a whisper.

"The truth is... I'm weak. A coward. Somewhere down the line, the struggle became my purpose. I'm afraid of letting that go, even if holding on to it will kill me. When I sleep, I pray I don't dream. I hope for the void. That I can sit in that silence—just long enough—to not need rest anymore. So I can go back to what I do best."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

For a long time, Cora simply looked at Drystan. Her gaze was neither piercing nor pressing, but persistent. It was just there, like an unsaid thought, marked by a furrow of concern as he tried to direct her attention elsewhere.

When she finally moved again, it was to begin the process of disinfecting an old, poorly healed wound as he revealed his pain. It wasn't an easy thing to put words to ugly feelings.

"And why," her voice was soft, steady as she flicked her gaze up to Drystan's face with a raised brow, "Do you think I learned how to heal?"

The struggle became my purpose.

There was a nagging urge to say something to try and refute his own negative feelings. To try and fix the problem, when he wasn't asking for a solution. Neither would honor the pain of his admissions, nor what he'd been struggling with.

"Drystan," Cora began, frowning in thought. "What did you feel, when you saw Grund and his daughter embrace?"

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

What did he feel?

He had to stop himself from giving another non-answer out of reflex. Trained not just by saying it to others, but by repeating it like a mantra—to reinforce whatever beliefs he was clinging to.

It didn't matter how I feel. I didn't feel anything. I was just glad that the mission was over...

He held those lines back, waiting for something more honest to rise. Those old phrases had no value here—and they likely wouldn't be bought by his fellow Knight.

Instead, he sighed, shaking his head. The words that followed came barely above a whisper, shaky and raw—so unlike his usual confident tone.

"I miss them."

Simple. But it didn't need to be anything else.

"When I said I was a fighter, I meant it. I... enjoy fighting. It's my passion. Not because I like hurting people, or to put others down—but to push myself. To see how far I can go. It started when I was just a kid. My pa took me to see my first shock boxing match. I went home that night, pretending I was a shock boxer. It felt like I was on top of the world."

His gaze grew distant, drifting back into memory. Maybe his gift was a curse—because he remembered everything. And some things were too sharp to forget, especially with a mind like his.

"Have you ever had something you loved doing? Something that let you shut the rest of the world out? Something that made all the crap going on in your life just... stop, even for a little while? That's what fighting was to me."

He chuckled, though it carried no humor—only a quiet, worn-down kind of sorrow.

"I lost my parents to some junkie looking for a fix. After that, I started lashing out. Stealing, robbing. The Order only found me because I tried to steal from the temple. Don't know if you were around for it, but a kid from the undercity trying to run off with a knapsack full of artifacts? It was the talk of the place for a bit."

He ran a hand through his hair, fingers combing the wavy midnight strands back.

"Still didn't care for the place much at first. Free food and a bed, sure, but I was still acting out. Skipping lessons. Cheating on tests by copying from other kids' wrists. Wasn't until I met my master that I started calming down. He knocked some sense into me—but more than that, it felt like... like I was part of a family again, y'know? Me and him, out in the galaxy, going on missions. Probably the happiest I've been in my life in a long while."

His voice quieted, and his eyes dropped to the medbay floor. His fist clenched slightly.

"A few years ago, he died. Saving me."

He swallowed hard.

"I barely made it out of that hellhole. But I started lashing out again. This time, there wasn't an Order to catch me. And I made sure to keep it that way. I kept busy, made myself useful, and no one asked questions. Which suited me just fine. I was numb, yeah. But that was better than feeling what I felt when I lost my parents. When I lost him. Only time I ever felt anything was when I was out there, hurting bad guys. On the job. Bleeding. Surviving."

That chuckle came again—sharper now, almost a laugh, tinged with something close to hysteria. It faded quickly. His hands rose to his temples, fingers pressing in as his head bowed—high enough to keep the tears from spilling out.

"Something brought me back to you all. Maybe it was the Force. Maybe it was my soul trying to tell me this wasn't sustainable. That I needed more. And maybe that 'more' is what led me back to the temple."

He exhaled sharply.

"Missing an arm. Wounded. Spilling my guts to a gal I barely know. And for what?"

A pause.

"I'm a mess, aren't I?"

Another breath. Bitter. Quiet.

"Stars, I hate being so damn weak."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora remained quiet, but her full attention was on Drystan as he peeled back the layers that comprised his soul. Many had been wrought by pain. The pain of loss.

There was a slight pinch to her features – a recollection of the boy who'd been caught copying her answers once. Not because his technique had been imperfect, but because his essay had been identical to her own. He hadn't yet learned to tweak the details enough to make what he'd copied into his own.

She was quick to resume her expression of silent concern. The brushstrokes of who Drystan Creed was had begun to paint a clearer picture. Just a little. Any stability he'd found in his life, any affection and purpose, had been cut short again and again by tragedy.

Cora reached to the table beside them. Retrieving his pack of cigarettes, she offered it to him. It wasn't a habit that she particularly liked, but she recalled how it had steadied his trembling hands earlier.

"Perhaps you are a mess," she conceded gently. "But you are not alone in that, even if it feels so."

Setting her hands on the cushion behind her, Cora leaned her weight back and let her gaze drift out the viewport opposite to where they were sitting. "You did a good thing today, Drystan. Even if it hadn't been your intent, you helped to reunite a father and daughter. I think that's more valuable than the sum of the artifacts we recovered."

The way she smiled indicated that Cora knew how cheesy that sounded, but it was something she genuinely believed.

"Perhaps there is no greater way to honor those who taught us, than to protect something like that."

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

"Protect something like that, huh?" Drystan murmured, giving the notion a moment of thought. After a brief pause, he nodded and took the pack from her hands, placing one atop his ear. Rising from the table—his wounds now cleaned and properly dressed—he tugged on his coat with the Force, sending it from where it lay to wrap loosely around his shoulders like a makeshift cape. From one of the inner pockets, he produced a lighter, slipping a cigarette between his teeth.

"Yeah... guess I should. Now that I'm strong enough." His voice was low, touched with something unspoken. "Not like how it was back then."

There was a flicker of guilt in his tone—subtle, but present. A reference to the deaths of those he loved. And though it made little sense to blame himself, especially given how young he had been, it offered a glimpse into the heavy burden he carried—one he had never truly set down.

"You know, I owe you for this. The operation... and what came after." His gaze returned to Cora's—now sharper, steadier, the fire in his eyes reignited with fresh resolve.

"And I'm not taking no for an answer."

His voice cut through with conviction.

"I want to be of use. One way or another. I have to pay you back—for helping me through this... and for those exams, all those years ago."

The last part trailed off slightly, almost sheepish in tone, before he turned and exited the medbay—making a pointed effort to leave before his fellow Knight could fire back with a reply.

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

One brow rose sharply in a quirk of mild amusement. There was a subtle understanding to her expression, one that went unspoken.

Cora didn't want to give Drystan any more to carry - he was already burdened enough by his past. On the other hand, he wanted to be useful. He was useful. She wouldn't handle him with kid gloves, but that didn't mean that Cora couldn't show him compassion and kindness.

Drystan left the medbay before she could verbally respond. He would catch her nod, though. That was probably enough.

"Perhaps I'll make him write lines," she mused to herself while leaning down to give Brazier a scratch behind her ear. Cora finger's suddenly paused mid-pet, eyes shifting sharply to the racyon at her feet.

"…When did you get into the medbay?"

Drystan Creed